Broken Legs and Sick Brothers
by skag trendy
Summary: Dean’s a grumpy patient, and Sam’s doing the best he can. Featuring Broken Legged Dean, and an extremely Sick Sammy. Set mid pretty much early Season 2. For Sendintheclowns and Phx. Warning: language.
1. Chapter 1

**Broken legs and Sick brothers**

**Chapter 1 **

_**Dean's a grumpy patient, and Sam's doing the best he can.**_

_**Featuring Broken Legged Dean, and an extremely Sick Sammy.**_

_**Set mid pretty much early Season 2.**_

_**For Sendintheclowns and Phx.**_

_**For all your help and encouragement, and**_

'_**cos you're both just beautiful.**_

_**Many thanks for the dual beta ladies!**_

_**Actually a little inspired by Phx 'Pink' fic, **_

_**so if it's Limp Sam you want, go read hers! **_

_**It's much better than mine!**_

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Sam sighed, and stepped out of the shower.

_I'm gonna be late for work._

But after a week of working double shifts at the local diner, he was struggling to care.

It was his own fault of course, as Dean was so fond of telling him. And really, would it hurt his brother to at least be civil for once?

"Sam? Don't forget to bring lunch!" Dean called out from _right behind_ the bathroom door, and Sam nearly slipped over in shock. "You forgot yesterday! Guy could starve to death round here!"

"You could always eat your own tongue," Sam muttered under his breath with feeling, rubbing himself dry on a towel. "Might shut you up at last."

"Huh? What dya say?"

Sam closed his eyes, and took a deep breath before answering. He really wasn't in the mood for an argument, and Dean sounded like he was just spoiling for it.

"I said, I didn't forget, I just didn't get a chance for a lunch break 'cos we were too busy. I left a sandwich for you in the fridge." And grit his teeth in anticipation of the scorching reply.

He wasn't disappointed.

"Probably too busy clearing up broken plates, huh?" Sam could almost see the smug smirk on Dean's face, clear through the bathroom door. "Seeing as you _enjoy_ breaking things! Ya know? Like_ legs?!_"

Sam nearly bit through his own tongue.

_I will __**not**__ get into it with him again._

But really, Sam couldn't blame him.

The last hunt had been a disaster. Oh, they got rid of the poltergeist all right, that wasn't the problem.

The problem came when Sam tripped over his own shoe laces and fell heavily against Dean, who promptly plummeted down the long sweeping stairwell.

It was a long fall, and Sam knew for a fact there were exactly seventy four steps, and the reason he knew that, was because he'd counted _every single fucking one of them_ as he fled downwards after his brother.

Heart in mouth, and whispering _pleaselethimbeokpleaselethimbeok _over and over, Sam watched as Dean finally came to rest at the bottom, unconscious, a thin dribble of blood winding down the side of his face, left leg bent at a decidedly awkward angle.

"Oh God, Dean!" Sam wasn't usually one to panic, but the sight of his brother so badly hurt, set his heart pounding even harder, and tears sprang to his eyes. "Talk to me man, are you ok?"

There was little point waiting for a response that wasn't coming, so Sam fumbled in a pocket for his cell phone and continued his frantic muttering.

"Of _course _he's not ok, ya big dumb klutz! He just fell down Scarlet O'Hara's staircase!"

Holding the phone against his ear with one hand, and checking for a pulse with the other, Sam tried not to panic when the emergency services didn't pick up right away, and he couldn't find Dean's pulse.

"C'mon!"

_Stop panicking!_

Then, finally, an answer.

"Yeah, my brother fell down the stairs at the local exhibition centre, I think his leg's broken…and he hit his head…" Relief flooded him when he slid his fingers further along Dean's neck, and finally found a strong, steady beat...

That was a few weeks back, and Dean hadn't let him forget it.

Here they were, stuck in this shithole for a town, a grumpy Dean laid up with a broken leg, and Sam was fast approaching nervous exhaustion, waiting tables at all hours, and putting up with his brother's digs.

Sam woke up at the crack of dawn, got breakfast, went to work, and_ literally _ran food home for Dean at lunchtime, dinner, and last thing at night. He gave Dean his pain meds, antibiotics, water, checked on him whenever he could. Dean insisted on food from the diner, even though their room had a kitchenette and breakfast bar; Sam was convinced this was another one of Dean's punishments.

Barely finding the time to eat properly, Sam fed on chips and the odd sandwich going free at the diner. He paid for their motel room, cleaned up after his brother, including picking up wet towels and dirty socks… which Sam could _swear_ Dean was doing on purpose since he only needed _one_ sock, what with his leg wrapped in a cast… so what the _fuck?_

Sam leaned heavily against the sink, shaking his head. But the black spots, happily parading across his vision, sure were stubborn little bastards. Every joint, every muscle in his body complained bitterly, and Sam wondered how the hell he was going to get through another day.

_Slow, deep breaths, now. C'mon get it together. What are you? Cinderella or something?_

And he knew he was channeling Dean at that point.

A roll of nausea had him sliding to his knees, lifting the toilet lid, and vomiting profusely until there was nothing left. Not that there was much to start with.

Feeling only a little better, he got back up on his feet, flushed the throne and closed the lid.

Gradually the darkness receded, revealing Sam's tired and downtrodden form in the bathroom mirror. He no longer felt quite so sick, but the downside was the incredible pounding behind his eyes. Stretching, and trying to massage the soreness from his neck, Sam sank down on the toilet lid.

_Something I ate, and I must've slept in a funny position, _he thought tiredly. _Everything aches._

He was pretty sure this would be his life for the next god knew how many weeks it took, until Dean's cast came off, and the brothers could move on from this place. But he _wasn't _sure just when his brother would let up about the whole staircase incident.

_Probably never_, Sam thought, gloomily.

When he finally emerged from the bathroom, he grabbed his uniform and began dressing, enduring Dean's smug grin and snide comments.

"Pink suits ya, Sam. You should wear it more often. And the fluffy bunny ears... cute, dude. Real cute." There was more than a hint of malice in his voice. "Seriously, it brings out the colour of your eyes."

Unfortunately for Dean, Sam wasn't in the mood for a verbal sparring match either.

Hadn't been for some time.

"Whatever, dude," he murmured, pocketed the bunny ears, slipped on his shoes – _also pink!_ – and disappeared out the door as fast as a throbbing headache and sore neck could take him.

Dean watched him go, a small frown forming.

"The hell's up with that kid now?" he grumbled aloud, grabbed the TV remote, and launched into a session of channel hopping, "anyone would think _he's_ the one laid up and bored outta his skull. Least he gets to mix it with the hot waitresses all day." He settled for Jerry Springer and carried on grumbling. "Like _that's_ a hardship! Damn kid…"

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Sam blinked and swayed. Those damn black spots were back. He wished they'd go away and leave him alone. It ain't like he asked for an encore or anything.

_The Bunny Hop_ had been flooded with truckers for the last few days since the only other diner in town, which was closer to the main road, had been closed down by the health inspectors.

God! What would they have made of Dean!

And what a time to swoon like a girl!

Holding two cheese burgers and fries, a turkey sub, a BLT, and three diet cokes.

Scratchy, irritating, bunny ears aside, it wasn't like he could afford to pay for it either. Dean's barb that morning had sunk in, and unfortunately wasn't far from the truth.

In the last three days, Sam managed to break three serving dishes, five mugs, six glasses, and two plates. And paying for breakages out of a salary which wasn't all that great to start with…

His colleagues hadn't been all that sympathetic, and some of their subtle hints and outright digs were making his life hell.

"_Whoops! There goes another plate…"_

"_I guess Clumsy Winchester strikes again…"_

"_What? Feet too big for ya, kid?"_

Coupled with his older brother's snark, starting the moment he walked through the motel room door at the end of a hectic shift, it was all getting a little too much.

If only he could stop feeling so _tired _all the time. But sleeping just wasn't on the agenda, because he rarely got home before midnight. And that was a joke right there.

Hah!

Home. A grungy motel room where the carpet had voting rights, and the mould crawling up the walls could comment on the state of the world's economy. At least, it was more conversation than he got out of his brother these days.

Some home.

Bobby had offered the brothers a place to stay, but Dean, for some strange reason, had turned it down. Said he didn't want to impose.

Sam had his own ideas about that. He wouldn't have put it passed Dean to use this as an opportunity for vengeance. And whilst his leg _was _badly broken, and it most certainly _was_ Sam's fault, surely no one deserved this!

It was an _accident_ for Christ sake!

Sam could feel himself getting angry all over again, and did his best to get a grip.

It's not like he'd done it on _purpose!_

The world seemed to shrink down to the size of a pinhole, and Sam could feel himself letting go, unable to stop.

_Ok, that's not good…_

A firm hand on his shoulder brought him back from the brink. Someone was talking to him, removing the trays from his grasp, and gently guiding him across the room.

"…easy there kid, just relax."

When the world opened up to him again, Sam found himself sitting on a couch in the manager's office.

Mason Hudson, a kindly middle aged guy, was crouched down beside Sam, glass of water at the ready.

"Ya back with us?"

Sam just nodded, didn't trust himself to speak, and he could feel his cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

"Ok, here ya go. Drink some water, and just sit nice and quiet for a little while."

The cool liquid felt good against Sam's parched throat, and he eagerly drank the entire glass right down.

"C-could I have some more, please?" Sam never felt so small and pathetic, apart from that time Dean sabotaged his shampoo, and the least said about his moody older brother right now, the better…

Mason studied his young employee for a long moment.

"Sure." He refilled the glass from a jug on the desk. "You drink that up, then I'm driving you home, kid. Ya look beat ta hell."

Sam's eyes widened with fear. If he lost this job, Dean would never let him live it down. And besides, who would pay the bills? It's not like Dean could hustle pool right now. In fact, the older brother refused to be seen out wearing a cast.

"No! It's ok! I feel ok, it just got a little hot back there, that's all, I swear." When the manager just eyed him worriedly, Sam, to his own horror, began to beg. "Please Mr Hudson, sir, I'm sorry about what almost happened out there, but I can work the rest of the shift…" his voice trailed off when Mason raised a hand to silence him.

"Ya see Sam, you're the new kid round here, so I know the others give you a hard time." Mason smiled, kindly. "They don't mean nothing by it, it's traditional. Fact is, you're a damned hard worker, but you're pushing yaself too hard, kid."

Sam opened and closed his mouth a few times, but wisely decided to remain quiet. He was too tired to argue, anyhow.

"I know ya brother's injured and can't work, and you're doing your best to burn both ends of the candle. We're all grateful to ya for stepping in when Terri and Michelle went off sick with flu, but I'm tellin' ya, it's gonna be the death of you, Sam. So here's the deal." Mason grabbed a blanket from the top of a nearby filing cabinet, and passed it over. "I'm gonna inspect the kitchens, check everything's up to scratch. You, on the other hand, are gonna get some sleep." He raised his hand again when Sam looked ready to protest. "I'll still pay you the over time, but I don't expect to see you poke so much as a toe outside this office for the next two hours."

Mason lowered the blind over the office window, as if it were his final word on the matter, and took a white laboratory-style coat from a hook on the back of the office door. He gave a small wave and left, leaving Sam utterly dumbstruck on the couch.

"Huh." He huffed out, then looked at the blanket, touched it and lowered his nose for a good sniff. "Clean."

He bounced gently on the couch. "Comfortable."

And, suddenly, any fight he had left, just drained right away.

Sam sank down, pulling the blanket over him, and sleep took hold almost immediately.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dean channel hopped.

He glanced at his wrist watch.

He frowned.

Still no Sam.

It was a cycle that repeated itself over and over, like he was stuck in a loop.

But _damn_ he was getting hungry.

Sam should have been back with his lunch an hour ago. Mumbling expletives under his breath, in particular about little brothers not fulfilling their obligations, Dean grabbed his crutches, hoisted himself up, and shuffled over to the door.

_Motel vending machine snacks, _he thought, sourly, _how delightful._

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

By the time he made it back, his hands were all blistered up, his back ached, and his leg throbbed under the cast.

And the expletives… well, they'd stepped up a notch or two, and it would have been safe to say that Sam's ears should have been burning.

And they were.

Sort of.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS **_

Sam resurfaced, sluggish and reluctant.

His wrist watch indicated he'd been asleep for four hours.

He should have been feeling better, fighting fit, but the ache in his neck had gotten worse, the headache intensified, and he was burning up like a sonofabitch.

"Dammit. Must be coming down with something." Sam shivered, and folded up the blanket, placing it back on top of the filing cabinet. His movements were slow, limbs achy and painful, but a forgotten memory came rushing back, nearly knocking him on his ass.

"Oh shit! Dean!"

_I forgot Dean's lunch! Oh God! He's gonna be unbearable after this!_

Pulling open the door and stumbling out of the office, Sam headed for the front counter, surprised to find Mason working the cash register.

The manager looked up at him, but the smile died away before it really got started.

"God kid, you look terrible!"

"I-I'm ok. I need a cheese burger with extra onions. To go." Sam panted out, eye lids drooping, sweat rolling down his face.

"No, seriously kid." Mason rounded the counter. "I think you should see a doctor…"

Sam was already shaking his head, and regretting it.

"No. Can't. Gotta get Dean's lunch."

Mason sighed. Well, he couldn't force the kid to do anything he didn't want.

"Ok. Just wait here." He took another look at the boy's pale face. "Second thoughts, sit over there. I'll be ten minutes. Then I'll drop you off home."

If possible, Sam grew paler.

"No, thanks. I can walk. It's not far." Sam didn't want to explain that he and his brother were living in a motel. It was just be too awkward and embarrassing.

Sam shambled over to a corner seat, and sat down, head dropping into his hands.

"_Dean's gonna make my life hell, or he might kill me outright if I'm lucky, or maybe I should do the job myself, 'cos the way I'm feeling right now…"_

He didn't even know he was mumbling to himself, until Mason appeared with a bag of food, frowning at him.

"What ya say kid?"

Sam glanced up, bleary eyed.

"Huh?"

"Thought you said something…" Mason shook his head. "Here." He handed over the bag, along with Sam's jacket. "On the house. Now git home and rest. Sure you don't wanna ride?"

"Uh… no... thank you sir. I'll be ok." Sam indicated the food. "That's really kind of you, but…"

"No buts. Go. Now."

Sam blinked.

"Uh… ok."

He stepped out on to the street and the bright daylight almost sent him to his knees.

One hand clutching his head, eyes narrowed to slits, Sam struggled onwards.

_Hurts..._

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

It took him thirty minutes to get back to the motel, a journey that should have taken half the time.

Dean, naturally, wasn't happy, and the snipes, sarcasm and insults began the moment Sam entered the room.

"Finally decided to show up, huh? You remembered your injured brother after all. Ya know... the one whose _leg you broke_?!"

Sam closed his ears off to it, and stood at the breakfast bar, unwrapping his brother's food. Hands shaking, legs barely able to hold him up, Sam lasted a whole two more minutes on his feet, before the world began the slow spin into darkness.

_Wow. What a victory._

He collapsed in a heap on the floor of the kitchenette, head catching the breakfast bar on the way down.

The brief flare of pain wasn't enough to bring him back.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

_**Author's Notes:**_

_**So here we go, another early Season 2 fic.**_

_**Let me know what you think!**_

_**Kind regards,**_

_**ST xxx**_


	2. Chapter 2

**Broken legs and Sick brothers**

**Chapter 2 **

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

The first thing Dean knew about it was the sound of smashing crockery, and he rolled his eyes.

"I see! Not content with destroying the diner, you gonna take out all the…" Dean glanced over from his seat on the bed, and the words just dried up. "All the…"

Sam was lying sprawled out on his stomach, blood streaming from a gash on his forehead. But what scared Dean the most was the fast, shallow breathing, pale skin and dark shadows under his kid brother's eyes.

"Sammy!"

Struggling with his crutches, Dean swore a blue streak trying to get to his brother quickly.

"Sammy, answer me! You ok?"

Not a twitch, nor a sigh, not a flutter of an eye lid. Sam was out cold.

Yet Dean could see the obvious signs of fever and sickness.

Straining, pulling his casted leg awkwardly along, Dean's fear got the better of him, and he lost balance, going down hard.

The cast cracked open and Dean cried out in pain, but it didn't stop him crawling towards his brother, calling out and praying for a response.

It took forever, and was it just his imagination, or was Sam's breathing beginning to sound like a struggle?

He sped up, groaning and grunting in pain, pulling himself across the carpet with his hands, warily eyeing his unconscious little brother and fear growing by the second. Something was seriously wrong.

Finally there, he gave Sam a gentle shake.

"C'mon Sammy, wake up for me," he whispered loudly. "You can do it, kiddo. Wake up and tell me what's wrong? How long you been sick?"

Dean couldn't understand it. Sam seemed fine that morning. Moody as usual, sense of humour on strike again, maybe a little tired looking…

But now he was seeing Sam up close, Dean realised the kid didn't just look tired. He looked _obscenely _worn out. Like he hadn't slept in about a month. And now that Dean was really looking at his little brother, he noticed something else.

Sam had lost a frightening amount of weight.

_How in hell didn't I notice sooner?!_

Dean snorted angrily.

'_Cos I was too damn busy berating him, and making his life a fucking misery over that stupid staircase accident. Shoulda stopped that crap weeks ago._

"Sammy?"

The kid showed no sign of coming round, but placing a hand on Sam's bleeding forehead confirmed a steadily rising fever. The sleeve of Sam's shirt had rucked up almost to his shoulder, revealing a strange rash on Sam's upper arms, and the older brother began to panic.

Dean rolled over onto his back, hissing in pain when his broken leg, complete with cracked cast, knocked against the tiled floor. Fumbling in his pockets, and trying not to pass out, he finally got a hand on his cell phone.

"Ok little br-brother, I'm g-gonna get you some help."

Keeping one hand on Sam's shoulder, and using his other to hold the phone, he waited impatiently for the dispatcher to pick up.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

The ambulance crew was professional, efficient, and sympathetic. Without any preamble, they gently rolled Sam on to his back, and got to work.

Dean watched everything.

The shaky rise and fall of Sam's chest, the oxygen mask fogging up with each breath, the carefully placed IV lines, the pulse oximeter attached to his finger, the beads of sweat rolling down the side of his face, and the blood pressure cuff wrapped carefully around his upper arm, which would become a continuous fixture in Sam's life for the foreseeable future.

Dean's eyes constantly swivelled, observed and evaluated.

Were they being too rough with Sam? Was there any need for _more_ needles? Was his heart beat a little erratic? Was he getting enough oxygen? Did they have to strap him in _so_ tightly?

Sam was being lifted up and carried to the ambulance, when Dean suddenly remembered something.

"Hey guys? You got room for one more?" Dean smiled weakly and pointed to his cracked cast.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dean was no doctor, but he _was_ pretty certain bacterial meningitis wasn't the best news. It certainly came as a shock. He'd been expecting _flu_ at best, _pneumonia_ at worst. But this...

He'd known it was bad when he saw the rash on Sam's arms. He knew a kid at school who collapsed one day during English with a bad fever; arms covered with a similar rash. The boy was rushed to the ER, but never regained consciousness. The school principal made the sad announcement two days later over the PA system, and the kid's classmates were all given preventative drugs as a precaution.

Dean shook his head slowly, staring ahead in fear and bewilderment, ignoring the nurse working on his new cast. His mind was too busy processing everything Sam's doctor had told him.

..._ bacterial inflammation of the meninges, the collective term for the protective membranes of the brain and spinal cord. Sam's on an IV of anti-viral drugs and antibiotics, but I've also decided to administer corticosteroids; it might help protect against any complications..._

_**What**__ complications?_

_Meningitis, if not treated quickly and effectively, can lead to complications such epilepsy, blindness, cognitive defects, deafness, and encephalitis – inflammation and swelling of the brain - which may lead to hydroencephalus - the obstruction of the flow of cerebral spinal fluid around the brain. Hypotension – low blood pressure - and disseminated intravascular coagulation... that's excessive blood clotting... may cause the obstruction of blood flow, which can lead to failing organs, and gangrenous limbs..._

_So, basically, there's a shit load that can go wrong?_

_Basically? That's exactly what I'm saying._

He lay back against his pillows and glanced over at his little brother. They'd been allowed to share a room once the results came back. The brothers were effectively quarantined, but Dean didn't care. The beds were soft, the nurses hot, even in puke green scrubs, and the food was half way decent. Bobby had made good time, driving half way across the country, and gowning up for a visit. The fabric mask over the older man's face had Dean snorting with laughter, which was just as well. Anything to wipe the memory of his little brother enduring a lumbar puncture. It was a brutal and painful looking procedure, but it was Sam's cerebral spinal fluid that gave up the goods, enabled the doctor to make an informed diagnosis, and begin the next stage of treatment.

Dean was hopeful, and had no intention of letting his little brother check out on him, but the fact remained, Sam looked terrible. He clearly wasn't improving. If anything, he was getting worse.

"Your brother's immune system is under a huge amount of stress," his doctor explained, patiently. "Sam's exhausted, weak from over-work and lack of nutrients. And now, with the fever, he's badly dehydrated. But that's just the start of his problems..."

As before, the doc pulled no punches, told the truth, straight up, no bullshit, and Dean was thankful for that, even he was scared all the more shitless. He needed to know just what lay directly ahead for the poor kid, and the possibilities sure weren't pretty.

Already, Sam was facing respiratory arrest and coma. He'd regained consciousness from time to time, but never for long. Dean despaired when glassy, blue-green eyes gazed at him from over the top of his oxygen mask, but when Sam began pleading for forgiveness, voice raw and broken with delirium; the older brother broke down and sobbed openly.

"_D-dean... d-don't g-go..."_

"Not going anywhere, kiddo. Not without you..."

"_D-don't f-feel so g-good... h-hurts..."_

"I know it does, Sammy. Don't give up on me now, keep fighting..."

"_S-sorry... y-your l-leg... d-dint..." _his confused brain seemed to be tripping in and out on him, the poor kid gasping and panting, blinking heavily. "_W-why d-dya h-hate m-me? Wh-what d-did I d-do?"_

Dean nearly bawled his eyes out again. Sam sounded so young and lost, so tired and heartbroken. His young body was wracked with painful shivers, eyes struggling to stay focussed.

"God Sammy, I don't hate you! I could _never_ hate you! Christ kid, you mean the _world_ to me, you're all I got left." Dean struggled out of his seat and sat on the edge of the kid's bed, hands palming Sam's fever flushed face, thumbs running over the plastic mask, and staring him deep in the eyes. "I know I've been treating you like shit; it was a stupid accident, and I shoulda let it go. I'm sorry, ok? But Sammy... please, don't go. Don't leave me..."

The kid was fighting hard, but his body was failing him, and Sam knew it. Sam reached up with a shaky hand, and grasped Dean's wrist, before his eyes slid shut again.

_No__**. I**_ _failed him. This is down to me._

Dean hung his head in shame, forehead resting against Sam's.

_C'mon baby brother, stay with me... God! Please let him stay with me._

The fever raged, in spite of medical intervention, and when the seizures began, hefty doses of anticonvulsants were added to the growing list of medications. But his breathing was becoming weaker, more laboured, hovering close to respiratory failure.

Big brother watched on in despair, desperately clinging to little brother's hand.

Later that night, the doc gave the go ahead for intubation, and, a short time afterwards, Sam slipped into a coma.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"Dean," Bobby's gloved hand came to rest on Dean's shoulder. "Ya need to sleep, kid. Won't do Sam no good if you catch this damn bug, too."

"If I were gonna catch it, I would have by now." Dean replied tonelessly, though he had to agree. He could barely keep his eyes open. Sitting by Sam's bed for the last three days hadn't helped his back either. The wheelchair wasn't exactly uncomfortable as such, but it wasn't designed to be slept in. Dean had more knots in his back than a plank of wood, and his leg, beneath its cast, was itching to the point of madness.

And his words weren't that far from the truth. He glared at the IV line, running into a canular on the back of his own hand. For the sake of caution, Dean was also receiving antibiotics and anti-viral drugs throughout his stay, ensuring any infection was stamped on. But now, all he wanted to do was rip the damn thing out; if Sam didn't survive, then Dean wouldn't either.

_Yeah, Mr Big Bad Bug, come get me. I'm all yours._

And Dean had one more nightmare to add to his list. The hydroencephalus stopped being a _possible_ complication, and became a real one. Earlier that morning, Sam had a cerebral shunt fitted to assist drainage, and Dean wanted to puke.

How many more tubes would Sam have to suffer before he started getting better?

And he _was_ getting better.

Whether the little shit wanted to, or not.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS **_

Dean used each and every tool at his disposal to keep up his one-sided conversation. The TV, the weather, their last hunt – _ouch! Maybe not!_ – their next hunt, how Sam was gonna take a long rest once he was back on his feet, let Dean do some running around for a change – _once the cast came off at any rate_ – maybe go visit the Grand Canyon, take a vacation and see Yellow Stone Park, maybe even go rent a cabin up in Alaska.

Bobby did his best to act normal. Dean often included him in conversations when the hunter was allowed in to visit, but sitting there by Sam's bed, knowing the kid was clinging onto life by the skin of his teeth? Talk about hard going! And what made it harder, was the increasingly brittle smile on the older brother's face, as despondency set in, and all but evicted hope.

"Dean, stop this," Bobby couldn't take any more. He reached out and grabbed Dean's shoulder when the boy ignored him. "I mean it kid. You're running yaself into an early grave..."

Dean said nothing to that, but snorted in derision. Bobby got the message sure enough, and it pissed him off like nothing else ever had.

"Now you listen to me," Bobby hissed angrily. "I ain't about to let you die right along with your brother, you got me? And I'm gonna make damn sure Sam _will_ survive this. He won't die. _I will __**not**__ let that happen!_" He calmed his voice when it appeared Dean really was listening. "Bad enough we lost one Winchester this year, without losing all three of ya."

Dean just stared down at his little brother for a long moment, before raising watery eyes back up to the older hunter.

"He's d-dying... Bobby." Dean's mouth scrunched tight, as though trying to hold in his torrid emotions. "And it's all my fault."

Bobby sighed in sadness and frustration.

"Don't give up on him yet, Dean. Sam still has an arsenal all of his own." He patted the older brother on the shoulder.

"You're right." Dean sniffed and scrubbed a hand over his face. "So long as Sam keeps holding on..."

Bobby nodded approvingly.

"That's the spirit, boy."

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"Hey little brother. It's a great day to wake up. Birds are singing, blue skies, hot sun. Coffee's good and strong here, and the food ain't half bad either." Dean's voice cracked a little. Hours of talking, and he still refused to give up trying to reach his little brother.

Mouth trembling and sniffing morosely, he reached out a hand, to tenderly brush away sweat soaked strands of hair from Sam's eyes. Eyes that had been closed for way too long, and Dean was getting really scared they'd never open again.

"I think Bobby may be on to something. Didn't say what, but I'm thinking healing spell maybe?"

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Bobby ducked out of the boys' room, cell phone in hand.

"Excuse me?" A middle-aged guy stepped forward, a worried smile on his face. "Are you Sam's father?"

Bobby eyed him up and down, gaze fierce.

"No. I'm his Uncle Bobby." Another sweep, checking for threats of any kind. "How do you know Sam?"

"I'm Mason Hudson," the guy held out a hand, but slowly withdrew it when Bobby just glared suspiciously. "Sam's boss? I thought he might have mentioned… ah well." He seemed a little hurt that Bobby didn't know him.

But then Bobby hadn't known about Sam's new career in catering, until Dean told him about it, and Dean only said anything because Bobby was kinda curious as to why the youngest Winchester was in such a mess.

"Manager of _the Bunny Hop_?" Bobby saw the light at last, and nodded, a smile finally breaking free. "Love those breakfasts. Best I've ever tasted."

"Why thanks. That's real nice of ya to say so." Mason smiled back, a little sadly. "'Cept it's closed down for now, until my staff and customers are given the all clear." He shifted nervously from foot to foot. "Uh… can we talk? I think I owe you guys and Sam an apology."

Bobby frowned.

"What for? Not your fault Sam got sick with Meningitis."

Mason stared at him for a long moment. "I think it might be."

"What?!" exclaimed Bobby, and successfully resisted two strong urges. The first was to take a step back just in case Mason breathed on him, and the second was to punch the guy, 'cos if he was even _partly_ responsible for Sam's condition...

"I mean, don't get me wrong. When Terri and Michelle went off sick last week, their doctors diagnosed them with flu. And there was no reason to think otherwise." Mason blew out a breath, mouth turned down in sadness. "Until Terri passed away Monday night, and Michelle followed the next morning. Later on, the coroner noticed the rash on their bodies, and that's when it all came out."

Bobby lifted his ball cap and scratched away at what was left of his hair.

"Still don't see why you would blame yourself for Sam."

Mason sighed wearily. "If only I'd realised sooner. I knew the boy was getting sick. I tried to get him to see a doctor, but he refused. If I'd only _insisted_. As manager, the safety of my staff always comes first, and I just let him walk home with a life threatening illness!" He shook his head after the long speech. "When he wakes up, you tell that boy his job's still waiting for him, no matter how long it takes. And if Sam and that brother of his need a place to stay..."

"They'll be staying with me," Bobby interrupted. "And kind as that offer is, Sam won't be coming back to work. I'm gonna be taking care of both boys from now on." _Whether they like it or not._

"Sure." Mason blinked at the uncle's no-nonsense tone. "Well, we're all gonna miss that kid... oh wait!" He fumbled and produced a small brown envelope from his breast pocket. "Could you pass this on for me?"

Bobby frowned, on the alert for any danger to his boys, and turned it over in his hands. "Mind telling me what this is?"

"Sam's wages, including overtime and tips." Mason shrugged, then handed over a larger white envelope. "And, ah, everyone at _Bunny Hop_ put in a little bonus, as a 'thank you' for all his help."

More than a little touched on Sam's behalf, Bobby pocketed the wages, nodding. His calloused fingers brushed over the white envelope, feeling its weight and texture. It was thick and heavy, and obviously contained more than just a greetings card.

"I'll see he gets this."

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"...Vegas, Grand Canyon, Universal Studios, Florida _and_ Los Angeles..." Dean was carefully constructing a list, and so far it had around twenty place names. "Anything else?" he glanced enquiringly at his little brother, ignoring the vent, and the ghostly pallor of the kid's face. Or at least, he tried, but as tasks go it was a pretty formidable one. "I remember when you were like, fourteen, or somethin', you got it in your head you wanted to go Dude Ranching down in Texas. Dad even promised us we'd go one year."

Dean sighed and put down his pen. "Never got around to it, huh? Never had the time, or the money." Reaching out, he gently wrapped a hand around one of Sam's, and squeezed. "Seems like we got to do everything else, though right? Dad wanted to hunt a werewolf, we hunted a werewolf. I found a hunt for a poltergeist, we hunted the poltergeist. But if Sammy wanted something, like his family to go see him in the school play..." Dean sniffed, feeling miserable as hell. He stayed silent for a long while, biting his lip and thinking it through.

As if a bolt of lightning had lit a fire under his ass, Dean suddenly leaned forward, still tightly gripping Sam's hand, and whispered fiercely in the younger boy's ear. "But this time it'll be different, Sammy. Don't care what it takes; soon as you're better, we're going down to Texas." Feeling the weak pulse in his brother's wrist, Dean stifled a sob, dipped his head, and laid a firm kiss on Sam's fingers. "Just you and me, huh? Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. And all ya gotta do is hold on for me. Don't give up kiddo, please."

The monitors beeped away quietly, the vent hissed and clicked.

Dean carried on talking.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Bobby had work to do, and it wasn't of the mechanical variety. He sat on the flatbed of his truck, a thick old tome open on his knees, flicking through the pages.

"It's here somewhere, I _know_ it is," the grizzled hunter muttered under his breath.

It was taking too long.

Sam was running out of time, and Bobby was pretty sure the same went for Dean.

"Not good enough," Bobby flicked through another few pages impatiently. Something caught his eye and he flicked back. With a small grunt of triumph, Bobby jumped out of the truck, and all but ran back into the hospital.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

_**Author's notes:**_

_**Had Bobby found the right spell to help Sam before it's too late?**_

_**Or will the remaining Winchesters bite the dust?**_

**_Yeah, I know. Artistic licence with the medical facts again. Please excuse._**

_**Cheers for all your reviews darlings.**_

_**Kind regards,**_

_**ST xxx**_


	3. Chapter 3

**Broken legs and Sick brothers**

**Chapter 3**

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

_**"I need a sign to let me know you're here…  
I won't give up if you don't give up"**_

_**Train - Calling All Angels**_

_**  
**_**Many thanks goes out to Supernaturalmydreams, **

**for this suggestion in her review of the last chapter. **

**She's right. Very appropriate.**

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"You sure this is gonna work?" Dean eyed the ingredients a little sceptically.

Bobby's head snapped up, and unleashed the full force of the Singer glare.

"No, I ain't sure. You got any better ideas?" An eyebrow was rising slowly in irritation, so Dean wisely shut his mouth, just kept a tight hold of his brother's hand, and stayed out of the way.

In the end it was nothing short of _unimpressive._ Just a small blue flame, some shitty smelling herbs, an incantation – Dean was fairly convinced he'd heard it before, probably on Star Trek, 'cause it sounded like Klingon – and Bobby's work was done.

"That's it?" Dean's gaze swivelled between Bobby and the smouldering kidney dish on the rollaway table. "No flashes of bright light, explosions..."

"Ain't no freakin' 4th of July boy," Bobby huffed out.

"Is for me," Dean dropped the smartass routine for a moment, murmuring quietly "if it works."

Bobby relented with a sad smile.

"That, I just don't know, kid." The older guy scratched the back of his neck, and blew out a breath. "Couldn't find any actual evidence it worked in the past, but then, no one ever said it didn't either."

Dean rolled his eyes.

"That's just freakin' great!" he began pacing, slowly and with difficulty, swearing when his cast got in the way, and muttering under his breath, though Bobby could hear just fine. "For all we know it could turn him into a... a... a _pig_ or somethin'. Or..."

"If we're talkin' animals, somehow I don't think _Sam_ would be the brother that turns into a pig," Bobby smirked.

Dean paused in his pacing and sent forth a furious scowl, which was water off a duck's back to Bobby Singer, who merely shrugged.

"Ha. Funny." Dean resumed the pacing. "If it _does_ turn him into a pig," his right arm shot out, index finger pointing accusingly at Bobby. "_You're_ cleaning up the mess!"

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

The rest of the night was spent watching, waiting, playing poker, Dean cheating at poker, Dean getting his ass kicked by Bobby for said cheating. Sam's doctor dropped by every now and then, but declared there was no change in the youngster's condition. Nurses came and went, taking notes, checking monitors, changing IV bags, but by the early hours of the morning Sam still showed no sign of improvement.

"Dean? There's something else you should know about that spell," Bobby leaned back in his chair.

"What?" Dean snarked out. "Like, we don't _know_ anything about that spell?"

"Smartass," the older hunter growled. "I _meant_ about what it's supposed to do if... _when_ it works, the after affects."

Dean frowned at that. "What do you mean?"

"It's not really a _healing _spell as such, more a cleansing ritual, though it does have _some _healing qualities." Bobby shifted a little, his old bones aching. "It'll clear out the bacteria causing the problem. But any complications Sam suffers from the illness itself, may take a while to fade."

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

It certainly took Sam a while to wake up.

His eyes slowly fluttered open and stared at nothing. He had no idea where the hell he was, but the smell of antiseptic suggested _hospital_.

A heavy blink later, and his eyes slid to the side, taking in the sight of... _black._

There was something in his mouth.

Something that wound down his throat, and scared the living shit out of him.

_What the...?_

Choking...

Suffocating...

Panic was setting up base pretty quickly. Why couldn't he move? Why was the room so dark?

_Someone help me! Please?_

A small measure of sanity found its way through to him, when he discovered someone was holding his hand.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

That's all it took.

One weak squeeze and Dean catapulted up in his seat, groaning when his cast bounced off the edge of the bed.

"Sammy? You with us?"

His brother blinked frantically, back arching weakly off the bed in despair, small whimpers breaking loose from the vent.

"Ssshhhh, kid. Just calm down and hold still." Dean jabbed the call button at the same time as giving Bobby a sharp kick with his good foot. "Help's on the way Sam."

"Kick me like that again," Bobby growled sleepily, rubbing his leg. "And he won't be the only one needing help."

"Bobby, he's awake!"

Bobby sat up, a small grin slowly forming.

"Well, I'll be..." with a small chuckle, he slapped his knee in true hillbilly style, "..._damned _if it didn't work!"

Dean's eyes were suspiciously bright, smile fragile but hopeful. He grasped both Sam's hands tightly, when they scrabbled at the vent.

"Don't touch that, Sammy. Just let the doc help you."

The kid's eyes rolled wildly in their sockets, and Dean despaired he wasn't getting through.

"Calm down... Sammy _look_ at me!"

And that was the crucial point where Dean figured out the problem. Heart sinking, he studied his brother's panicked face, fairly sure the kid could hear him.

Sam's scared eyes were wide open, and fixed on a point just over Dean's shoulder. The kid's muffled whimpers accompanied rapid blinking, and he clutched his big brother's hand in a bone crushing grip.

Dean was also fairly sure, Sam couldn't _see._

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dr Gilson finished his examination, and, giving his patient's arm a gentle, comforting squeeze, stood back. The air of quiet sadness clued Sam into the obvious. He was no longer a prisoner to the vent, but he was still a captive of the darkness. Only difference _now_, of course, he was fully conscious.

"I'm afraid that permanent blindness is one of the many possible complications of meningitis," the doc began. "I'm so sorry Sam."

Dean's mouth fell open, and Bobby shifted uncomfortably, nudging him into silence.

"Guys?" Sam whispered, desperately. "What do we do now? Tell me? There must be _something!_"

Dean and Bobby refused to look at each other. If the spell worked as well as they hoped, the blindness would be anything but permanent.

"I know this isn't much consolation right now," Doc Gilson said gently. "But it could have been worse. You're still here with us, Sam. Given how late you received treatment, I'm amazed you survived at all."

No. It wasn't _any _consolation.

Sam couldn't help it. The tears leaked out, in spite of his battle against them, but he swallowed back the sobs, and nodded calmly, determined to keep it together. Sam just _knew_ his brother wasn't taking this well. Probably blaming himself to hell and back.

_Kid's a godammed trooper, _Dean smiled sadly. _This is my fault. If I hadn't been so fucking self involved, I'd have noticed something was wrong sooner._

Sam was bang on the button. He could _feel_ the guilt floating heavily in the atmosphere.

"S'not your fault, Dean." Sam reached out, groping blindly for his brother's hand. "You couldn't have known, ok? _I_ didn't know, and I was the one getting sick."

"No excuse, little brother," Dean answered, voice suddenly sounding like a quarry load of gravel had been poured into his throat. "I fucked up, didn't see you wearing yaself out, getting sick. And to think I once called _you_ a selfish bastard. Guess I get to take that title home now, huh?"

He shuddered. Sure, Sam would get his sight back eventually, if the cleansing worked ok, but that didn't exonerate Dean from shirking his responsibility.

"Dean?" Sam sounded panicked, hand still reaching out to _provide_ as well as _receive_ comfort.

And Dean heard him. _Really _heard him.

Grabbing the flailing hand, Dean squeezed gently and pulled himself closer.

"It's gonna be ok, Sammy," he whispered in Sam's ear so the doc couldn't pick up on it. "We got it covered. You're getting you're sight back, kiddo."

"How?" Sam whispered back. "What did you do?" His voice was accusing, reminding Dean of their father's fate.

"No. Nothing like that."

"Then, what?"

"Let's just say, Bobby Singer has more than a few tricks up his sleeve."

Sam smiled for the first time since he woke up.

_Knew I could count on you guys._

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

The older brother had been holding on to Sam's hand when Bobby performed the ritual, and though it wasn't famed for its healing properties per se, it nonetheless worked. A week after leaving the hospital, Dean's leg was completely healed, cast off, and not so much as a limp.

Sam's sight, however, was taking a little longer. He effectively handed his own personal well being over to Dean and Bobby, who soon rewarded such unconditional trust. Dean read to him, supplied his favourite ice cream, and actually sat down and_ talked_. Conversation was Sam's only form of entertainment, and without it he would have gone crazy.

Dean privately speculated the temporary blindness was actually a good thing for Sam. The kid was all washed out from the meningitis and desperately needed the rest. With no sight, Sam was forced to take it easy, whether he wanted to or not, which allowed Dean to spoil his baby brother rotten.

_God knows, he deserves it after all the shit I put him through._

Strangely, Dean pretty much enjoyed taking care of Sam, Bobby could see that a mile off. The grizzled hunter had some pretty private theories of his own on this, the chief one being that Dean was re-living a little of the past, of happier times, when the boys looked out for each other and John was absent for days on a hunt. Sure, _guilt_ may have been a driving force in part, but Bobby didn't think it was the main motivator.

Dean felt _needed_ when he took care of his little brother, something he'd obviously missed when their Pa died, and he shut himself off from Sam. But, lately, the new _senior_ Winchester, natural care-giver and nurturer, was rediscovering his purpose and reason for living.

_Damn shame it took a bout of serious illness to wake him up, _Bobby reflected with a small, sad smile. _Idgit kids!_

Standing at the kitchen stove and preparing a light lunch, he watched the boys, eyes crinkled with fond amusement. Sam gripped Dean's left arm, and allowed his brother to guide him slowly through the house to the porch swing on the veranda. Soft words filtered through to the kitchen. Bobby's old ears couldn't make out what Dean was saying, but Sam was nodding and smiling, eyes blank but beautifully clear, a definite sign of improvement. Following his release from the hospital, the younger boy was weary, eyes glazed over with fatigue, skin so pale it was almost translucent. Dean was gradually putting his little brother back together, piece by piece, and the difference a week made was nothing less than astounding.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dean handed Sam a pair of dark sunglasses, and grinned widely, pleased with his brother's progress. A few days ago Sam couldn't even detect light changes, but now he could sense the sun on his face.

"I know you're getting impatient," he sat down next to his brother on the porch swing, and curled Sam's hand round a cold beer bottle, "but just take it easy. You'll soon see my gorgeous face again."

"Uh, Bobby?" Sam called out. "There a way of reversing that ritual? Dean's scaring the crap outta me!"

Bobby appeared in the doorway holding a tray loaded with soup and sandwiches.

"Don't even go there, kid!"

"Hey!" Dean punched Sam lightly on the arm. "You _know_ you can't resist the _Dean!_"

"Dude, I'd rather be blind," Sam directed his grin in what he thought was the relative proximity of his brother. "Surely that tells you something?"

"Wash your mouth out, bitch!" Dean responded automatically. "Many a lovely lady has fallen for this packaging, and with good reason."

"Probably couldn't believe their own eyes, Jerk!" Sam retorted, and reached out, searching for food.

"Can't believe your own eyes, whose eyes will ya believe?" Bobby muttered, and gently grabbed Sam's hand. Before the friendly bickering could start up again, he pulled a couple of envelopes out of his jacket pocket. "Forgot to give these to ya. The smaller one's ya wages from your boss, Mason, but the larger one's a get well card from all the staff at _Bunny Hop_. Seems they got a collection for ya."

Sam blinked and ran his fingers over the two envelopes.

"Wow," he whispered in awe, feeling the weight. "That's one hell of a collection, Bobby."

"Yeah." Bobby glanced at Dean. The older brother wasn't looking at the envelopes, but watching Sam's face closely.

"Uh…" Sam appeared to swallow hard, as though fighting back tears, then held out his hands. "Dean? Would you mind…?"

"Sure, kiddo," Dean uttered softly, then took the proffered envelopes and began tearing them open. Immediately, ten, twenty and fifty dollar bills spilled out over his lap, and he glanced up at Sam. Watery eyes stared passed him, awaiting an answer to his silent question.

A quick count revealed the total amount of cash, including Sam's wages, came to over three thousand dollars. And when Dean said it out loud, Sam gasped and swayed in his seat.

_Seems ol' Mason added a little something extra there,_ thought Bobby with a grin.

"My God! That's way too much!" Sam started shaking his head. "We have to give it back…"

Dean seemed stunned, and blinked dazedly at the cash.

But not nearly stunned enough.

"What you talking about?" The older brother whispered hoarsely, and pushed the cash into Sammy's hands. "You earned that money fair and square. And you're gonna spend every penny of it on yourself, you hearing me?"

"Dean, no…" Sam's voice broke, the youngster finally overwhelmed by the sheer generosity of his former work colleagues.

"I mean it, Sam. You almost died because you were too busy working and looking after me, instead of taking care of yourself." Dean gently, but firmly, closed Sam's hand around the bills, and whispered softly to his little brother. "Take the loot, Sammy. You deserve it."

Sam stared ahead, unseeing eyes wet with tears, and nodded shakily.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Two months of leading Sam around like a puppy dog, acting as his eyes, and generally keeping him safe until his sight returned, Dean was finally rewarded when Sam squinted up at him one morning, and announced:

"Dude, have you gotten highlights?"

Instead of a snarky retort, Dean whooped for joy, dragged his little brother out of bed and into the kitchen to tell Bobby the good news.

Sam's sight wasn't one hundred percent. Everything was kind of blurred with little or no colour, so his brother's normally dark blonde hair appeared bleached. But with careful supervision, he could get about unaided.

Another week of progress, Sam was almost fully recovered; no longing looking so washed out and exhausted. And that was when he started making plans. With Bobby's help, people were called, bookings were made, and pretty soon Sam used up all that cash.

Which was why, sometime later, Dean and Sam found themselves on horseback and Stetsons tipped over their eyes, shielding them from the hot Texas sun. Sweat soaked shirts clung, and dust from the trail covered their chaps, but it felt good.

It felt right.

"Sammy?"

His little brother turned a dazzling smile on him, and Dean couldn't help grinning back. Sam's colour had improved drastically since coming to the Three Wolf Ranch, his skin soaking up the sun and turning a healthy shade of olive brown.

"Yuh!"

He'd also put on some much needed weight, and no longer looked like a stick insect.

"We shoulda done this years ago." Dean stared at him for a long moment before finally telling him, "Dad woulda loved it."

Sam nodded and bit his bottom lip, smile fading a little. It was the first time John Winchester had been mentioned since Sam woke up in hospital, and he was grateful to hear his brother talking about him at last.

"Yeah, he sure would."

"C'mon." Dean grinned suddenly. "Race ya back."

"Loser buys the beers in town tonight!" Sam replied, with a laugh.

Urging their horses into a canter, the two handsome young riders headed out along the trail. Speeding up into a full blown gallop, and raising large clouds of dust that spiralled up into the afternoon sky, they disappeared from view.

But, anyone listening nearby would still have heard the dual shouts of glee in perfect unison.

"_**YEEEEEHHHHAAAWWWWW!"**_

_**The End.**_

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

_**Author's Notes:**_

_**Here we are at the end. Hope you all enjoyed that. **_

_**For the reader who sent me the kind PM re: chapter 2, we're going to assume Dean's cast broke so easily because it was faulty. LOL!**_

**_Many thanks to Phx, who gave me the name for the Dude Ranch in reference to a certain other WIP of mine!_**

_**Cheers darling.**_

_**Kind regards,**_

_**ST xxx**_


End file.
